


I Believe I Could Drink You Dry

by crazyparakiss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a breakup Al decides relationships aren’t for him, and Malfoy never says ‘no’ to a shag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Believe I Could Drink You Dry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HP_AdoptAPrompt at Livejournal. I struggled with what I wanted from this prompt so it ended up porn with an open ending.

_  
A little liquor on my lips.._

  
  
I. Al takes another shot. His eyes clouded with tears of frustration. At his side Rose looks sympathetic as well as worried.   
  
“You know you deserve better,” it’s an empty platitude, falling flat in the space between them. It’s not true. Al thinks Ewan deserves better; all his exes have deserved better. Al’s never been made for relationships. He needs too much solitude, requires long silences, and doesn’t do well in pairs. He’s cold--or so Ewan told him when he walked out of Al’s flat a week before.   
  
Al was in the middle of some intensive potions work, and couldn’t afford to feel heartbroken--not until now. “I think I’m done with relationships,” Al murmurs, despondent and Rose huffs in a disbelieving manner.   
  
“You’re a secret romantic, Al, you’ll never be done with relationships.” Rose takes a delicate sip of her martini, glancing around the bar. “Besides, we’re just twenty-four; you will love again.” This time she sounds as if she believes what she’s saying, and Al signals the bartender--Teddy--for another drink.  
  
“I just want someone to shag me when I feel like,” he moans, after his fifth or so shot slips down his throat.   
  
“Like a fuck buddy,” Rose inquires with a drunken giggle, “Do those even happen outside of films and trite novels?”   
  
Malfoy walks in while Al is thinking it over, and he keeps him within his line of sight as Malfoy wanders up to where Teddy is behind the bar--looking unimpressed.   
  
“You’ve got a good excuse for me, I hope,” Al overhears Teddy say to Malfoy.   
  
Malfoy who shrugs and with a casual tone replies, “I had to run off some bloke who followed me home last night.” Then he adds, “And I’m sure Cassie will be by after my shift; I think she has some sort of ideas about our relationship that are nowhere near accurate, so I might have to sort that. So I’ll be at that until like four or five I’m sure.” Malfoy doesn’t sound amused by the idea.   
  
Teddy shakes his head, “Just make sure you aren’t late again.”   
  
“I’ll do my best, boss,” Malfoy smirks. With a fond, brotherly expression Teddy shoves him.   
  
“Go on, then, Collin called in, again, so you’re on shift alone tonight unless Dominique feels like coming down here,” Teddy seems irritated.   
  
“Let her alone, she’s got a baby, yeah? I can manage this lot alone,” Malfoy shrugs out of his leather jacket and Al appreciates the broad line of his shoulders. Running his finger around the rim of his shot glass as he watches him. He supposes Malfoy’s a fit sort of bloke. If one’s into unusually tall, slender builds, impossibly pale skin and near white hair--Al’s got a preference for men of normal heights, broad all over, with too much facial hair. Malfoy doesn’t meet those standards--then there’s the way he dresses. Like some punker who has never left the seventies or eighties. With his holey denim trousers, thick rimmed glasses, and more spikes and safety pins than Al is comfortable with. Al prefers blokes he wouldn’t be embarrassed to introduce his mum to--the kind of guy who plays sport, goes to church on Sundays, and who isn’t likely to call his gran a cunt. Malfoy’s all wrong for Al; he knows this, and he thinks that’s what makes him perfect.   
  
“Rumour is Malfoy spreads for anyone,” he whispers, and Rose glances up slowly--her blue eyes wide and owlish with a sheen over them due to drunkenness.   
  
“I heard he fucked the whole of his house during school,” she slurs, and she isn’t quiet about it.   
  
Malfoy’s voice is very close, very suddenly, and Al nearly falls off his stool in fright, “I’ve never been one for the prepubescent, but yeah, I did it to most of the upper years and a few from the year below.” His eyes are grey like a cold winter morning and hold Al captive--drawing him in the way sirens lure sailors to sea. With a low-pitched, seductive whisper, Malfoy speaks, “Are you curious, Potter? Or perhaps your cousin is?” Here he turns his appreciative glance on Rose, “Or just maybe the both of you want to follow me home for a night of shared pleasure.”   
  
“Just Al,” Rose blurts, blushing as she brandishes her engagement ring towards Malfoy--as if it will repel him. As if it’s a rosary she can use against a fiend.  
  
A sharp grin spreads slowly across Malfoy’s mouth, “That’s just a promise, luv, and Lord knows those are easily broken.” Then turning back towards Al, once Rose’s made her half scandalised sound of protest, “You’d better stop, now, Potter.” Here he pulls Al’s current, untouched shot away from him--taking it himself, “I like my partners sober enough to consent.”   
  


_I let him climb inside my body..._

  
  
II. Malfoy’s flat is on West End Alley. A dingy little flat that is unbefitting a person of his station, but Al doesn’t care to ask why he’s here when he could be in his parents manor house. It doesn’t seem important when Malfoy puts his mouth on Al’s. His lips soft and sweet with the flavour of clove cigarettes and the sharp bite of whisky.   
  
Soon they’re losing their clothes. Malfoy’s long, ring covered fingers undoing the buttons of Al’s shirt with a swift efficiency. He follows along, clumsy next to Malfoy’s sure movements. Al reaches to touch the pale skin Malfoy exposes, tracing the tips of his fingers over a vibrant tattoo that depicts a phoenix doing battle with a fearsome basilisk. In Malfoy’s left nipple there is a shiny silver hoop, and Al pulls at it with his teeth, enticing a hiss out of Malfoy’s throat.   
  
“Potter,” Malfoy growls, winding his fingers into Al’s unruly hair, gripping the strands there as he tilts Al’s head back. He devours Al. There is no other way to describe his kiss. It’s soul-ravaging--an untamed force that pushes its way into Al and steals his breath. “Bend over,” Malfoy commands when he breaks away, his lips swollen and slick.   
  
Al does as told, and shivers when Malfoy yanks his trousers down, none too gently. “Malfoy,” he gasps, shuddering as Malfoy leaves teeth impressions in his skin. Malfoy whispers a litany of filth as he spreads Al open, his words tickling against the sensitive skin like a cool breeze. A shudder moves through Al, as a ripple on a pond, spreading out from the place where Malfoy’s tongue is busy exploring him.   
  
“You’re like candy,” Malfoy husks, his cheeks and chin wet from his own saliva, “I could eat you for hours, Potter.” Al says it feels like it’s been days. He’s pressing back, begging for more than Scorpius’s fingers and seeking tongue. “So impatient,” Malfoy sounds fond, “Beg me, Potter. If you ask sweetly I’ll give you what you want.” His voice full of the promise of sin.   
  
“Please,” Al half sobs when Malfoy’s finger crooks just so inside of him, “Please fuck me.”   
  
“I don’t think that was good enough,” Malfoy whispers, before running his tongue around the skin that hold his fingers within Al.   
  
“I’ll do anything, Malfoy, just fuck me, please,” Al’s voice cracks with his plea.   
  
“That’s a dangerous thing to promise, Potter,” but Malfoy sounds delighted.   
  
Malfoy’s blunted nails scrape Al’s scalp as he grips his hair, pulling him up, whispering a spell Al doesn’t quite catch. On the wall Al watches as a mirror appears, reflecting his debauched state, “Look at you,” Malfoy murmurs against Al’s neck, meeting his eye in the reflective surface, “Look at how I’ve painted you with my affections.” Then, sweetly, he asks, “Do you want me to add more?”   
  
“Yes,” Al hisses and Malfoy sinks his teeth into the skin over Al’s bony shoulder. While distracted with that pain, Malfoy enters him--his long prick reaching places Malfoy’s fingers never could. “Fuck,” he cries, and Malfoy runs his hands up Al’s sides, running up his arms, guiding them over Al’s head, urging them to clasp in Malfoy’s hair.   
  
“Hold on to me, luv,” Malfoy commands, his tone gentle as his finger dig into Al’s hips with a force that borders on brutal. “That’s it,” he whispers, before snapping into Al. His eyes half-lidded as he trails open-mouthed kisses over the shell of Al’s ear, down his neck, to his shoulder where he sucks dark bruises.   
  
Al watches--sees his own body stretched taut, straining as Malfoy brings him closer to the edge. His cock bobbing with every thrust--it’s angry red, swollen, and Al whimpers when he sees Malfoy’s fingers snaking closer.   
  
Malfoy stares with those grey eyes, a small smirk on his lips, “You want me to touch you?”   
  
“Please,” Al whimpers, and Malfoy tsks.  
  
“I think I’d rather watch you come from my cock alone; would you like that?”   
  
Al’s never done that before, to be honest. He’s never been fucked well enough to come just from anal stimulation, but he nods anyways--hoping that Malfoy can bring him over that edge.   
  
He does, with his nails scratching into Al’s scalp with one hand and the other gripping at Al’s sharp hip. His large white teeth leaving their mark at the side of Al’s neck--a spot he’s sure he’ll have for weeks, but that doesn’t matter as he comes. Creamy white lines splattering against Malfoy’s mirror as Al releases a sated scream.   
  
While Al falls, boneless, against Malfoy’s mattress Malfoy lights one of his preferred clove cigarettes, and grins down at Al’s limp form.   
  


_And held him captive with my kiss..._

  
  
III. It becomes something of a habit. When Al gets the itch beneath his skin he goes to Malfoy. He’s tried a few others, but they can’t scratch at his needs the way Malfoy does. They don’t bite hard enough, don’t tease long enough, don’t have a maniacal need to be the best Al’s ever had.   
  
Only Malfoy manages to be what Al requires.   
  
The second time he tried to tell Al he doesn’t do repeats, but Al forced his way in and the minute their mouths touched Malfoy relented.   
  
Now he’s not sure how many times they’ve done this, in how many places.  
  
Tonight Ted’s having a party, invited the lot of Al’s family and Malfoy’s, too along with his scattered assortment of friends. It’s a packed pub, drunken sods and mistletoe as far as the eye can see. Al loses interest quickly with the scene when Malfoy shows up--some tart on his arm, but she’s forgot in an instant when those eyes find Al, where he’s standing by the door to the loo.   
  
He doesn’t hear the excuse Malfoy gives his date--Al’s too focused on the promising smoulder in Malfoy’s gaze. The shove is expected, and Al falls willingly into the loo as Malfoy kicks the door closed behind them. Then they are at each other, all teeth and lips and tongue. Malfoy catches Al when he jumps into Malfoy’s strong arms. Pulls at Malfoy’s clothes while Malfoy settles him on the small cabinet sink.   
  
“Eager,” Malfoy chuckles, a pleased glimmer to his eyes.   
  
“Always,” Al replies before he dives back in to devour Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy’s fingers slipping into Al easily, his hole still wet from the seed Malfoy left in him a few hours earlier--while Malfoy had him against his corridor wall.   
  
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Malfoy groans, pulling Al closer so he can sink within his body.  
  
“You love it,” Al husks, raising one of his legs over Malfoy’s shoulder because he needs Malfoy deeper.   
  
“More than I’d like to admit,” Malfoy husks, wrapping his hand around Al’s cock as he drives into him with a savage force.


End file.
